don't blubber as a rule. This fever leaves
you as weak as a rag, and ready to cry if any one says 'Boo!' I've been
doing some high-pressure thinking since nursie left. Had plenty of time
to do it in, sitting here by this window all day. My land! I never knew
there was so much time. There's been days when I haven't talked to a
soul, except the nurse and the chambermaid. Lonesome! Say, the amount
of petting I could stand would surprise you. Of course, my nurse was a
perfectly good nurse--at twenty-five per. But I was just a case to her.
You can't expect a nurse to ooze sympathy over an old maid with the
fever. I tell you I was dying to have some one say 'Sh-sh-sh!' when
there was a noise, just to show they were interested. Whenever I'd moan
the nurse would come over and stick a thermometer in my mouth and write
something down on a chart. The boys and girls at the store sent flowers.
They'd have done the same if I'd died. When the fever broke I just used
to lie there and dream, not feeling anything in particular, and not
caring much whether it was day or night. Know what I mean?"

Gabie shook a sympathetic head.

There was a little silence. Then Effie went on. "I used to think I was
pretty smart, earning my own good living, dressing as well as the next
one, and able to spend my vacation in Atlantic City if I wanted to. I
didn't know I was missing anything. But while I was sick I got to
wishing that there was somebody that belonged to me. Somebody to worry
about me, and to sit up nights--somebody that just naturally felt they
had to come tiptoeing into my room every three or four minutes to see if
I was sleeping, or had enough covers on, or wanted a drink, or something.
I got to thinking what it would have been like if I had a husband and
a--home. You'll think I'm daffy, maybe."

Gabie took Effie's limp white hand in his, and stroked it gently.
Effie's face was turned away from him, toward the noisy street.

"I used to imagine how he'd come home at six, stamping his feet, maybe,
and making a lot of noise the way men do. And then he'd remember, and
come creaking up the steps, and he'd stick his head in at the door in the
funny, awkward, pathetic way men have in a sick room. And he'd say,
'How's the old girl to-night? I'd better not come near you now, puss,
because I'll bring the cold with me. Been lonesome for your old man?'

"And I'd say, 'Oh, I don't care how cold you are, dear. The nurse is
d